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You are memorable, because you were different.
I am forgettable because I am the same.
…hardly a gift but current nonetheless.
You were one I wanted to believe.
She was one I wanted to forget.
Old habits die hard, bad habits never die.
She is the poster child for reinvention
and proof that things never change.
Another one for the books,
another face without a name,
another story to write,
another unfinished game…
You are nobody until she’s immortalized you in prose are you ready for your starting line?
In memory his hands are always soft and he is always gentle, he pays no mind to look at her and she closes her eyes for comfort, because she is shy or because she does not want to be reminded that here she is just another warm body and he is just another guy. Tomorrow he has forgotten, but you won’t be able to wash his scent off your skin for days.
There is something uncommon in his abandon,
and nothing uncommon in his abandonment.
You wish they would learn the difference, they never do.
This is not sadness,
this is nothing to write home about,
this is just how it is,
and how it always will be.
She is regretful only for the things she does not do and mindful only of the things she does not say.
Promises are like hearts,
easily broken in careless hands.
I care not for your apathy,
and less for your empathy.
Tell me something worth believing,
so I can forgive your trespasses